


Oral Perception of the Temperature of Liquids

by orphan_account



Series: What We Do In The Semidarkness [6]
Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Chaise Lounge, F/M, Familiar Mallory, Fluff and Crack, Frottage, Humor, Non-consensual licking, Tattoos, Vampire Michael, What We Do In The Shadows AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 19:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20376664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mallory tries to hide something from Michael, but he sniffs it out.





	Oral Perception of the Temperature of Liquids

**Author's Note:**

> I've read this trope in other fandoms and really enjoyed it. I decided to do my own spin on it. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> The plot and characters of American Horror Story: Apocalypse belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. 
> 
> The name of the nail polish belongs to OPI. 
> 
> Thanks to Chekhovs_Power_Loader and iridescentrey for a hand with the French.
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

Michael’s sprawled across the chaise lounge on his stomach, directing Travis’ vacuuming with a lazy hand when he notices.

Mallory had arrived at the nest in three shirts and a liberal coating of perfume, but the sweat she's working up dusting the bookshelves has her shedding her outermost layers. 

She’s down to a thin cotton shirt when Michael asks, “Mouse, why do you smell altered?” His voice is adorably confused. 

Shit. Irritatingly confused. So irritating. 

Mallory stiffens momentarily but continues dusting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe Coco’s pet peed in a plant again.”

“Now, now,” Michael chastises her. “Let’s not throw accusations when Mutt isn’t here to defend himself. And don’t change the subject!”

She hums noncommittally. 

“What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?” he presses, appearing at her side out of thin air.

Mallory squawks, jerking back as he paws at her clothes.

“What have I told you about unauthorized touching!” she snaps, pulling the hem of her rucked-up t-shirt from his grasp.

Michael ratchets up the intensity on his resting bitch face. “I smell blood, Mouse. Fresh blood. And...ink. Have you stabbed yourself with a quill?” 

Mallory smacks her forehead against a shelf. “No. I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it. It was just a drunken mistake,” she mumbles under her breath.

“Drunk! Again? Who’s clothing did you eject your stomach contents onto this time? Is he the one who did this to you?” Michael’s nostrils flare—scenting her. Looking for _eau de fuck boy _no doubt.

“Michael you thick git. She got a tattoo,” Madison calls.

She’s leaning in the doorway to the library wearing a Hugh Hefner-esque smoking jacket with a fox fur stole over her shoulders and a blood/banana/oatmeal mask drying on the flawless skin of her face.

Mallory rolls her eyes. “Thanks, Cruella. But shouldn’t you be hunting puppies instead of terrorizing the village people.”

Travis starts to chuckle but quiets under his master’s stare. “Remind me why we haven’t cut this one’s tongue out, Michael? She’s far too bold.”

Michael raises a challenging brow and puffs out his chest. “Because I like her this way. And if I recall you were fairly fond of her wit when she was using it to deface my clothing!” 

Madison snickers. “Yes, well. Dear Mallory really can’t be blamed for the incident with the werewolf. You were entirely too alluring ranting about piss in the front yard and smelling of peanut-butter.”

“Be gone, beast!” Michael hisses at her, showing his fangs. Madison yawns.

“Come, Travis. Mistress needs her claws painted. The shingles on the neighbour’s roof really did a number on last week’s polish.”

Travis is only too eager to abandon his post, leaving Mallory alone with her own predator. The traitor.

“Oooh,” Travis calls after Madison. “Can we do ‘I’m Not Really a Waitress,’ red this time?”

Michael waits until they’ve left to turn his attention on Mallory again. 

“Let me see this _tattoo _Madison speaks of,” he demands.

Mallory gives him the stink eye and edges farther away from his grabby hands. “No. Nope. Not happening. I am not just going to bare myself to you because you ask!”

Michael prowls closer. “You really should have chosen the location more wisely then, Mouse. You’ve marred my property and I deserve to know what horror has befallen your flesh.” 

Her scowl has Michael lunging for her waist, slinging her over a broad shoulder and marching toward the chaise lounge. Mallory beats her fists ineffectually against his back and calls him a whole host of inventive slurs.

“Put me down, you shit-eating, dickass twatwaffle motherfucker!”

Michael huffs out a sigh at her struggles. He sinks down on the furniture cushion and pulls her across his lap. She ends up face down over his knees. He gives firm slaps to first the right and then the left cheeks of her ass that have her insults drying up.

Mallory makes a kittenish sound at the sting in her backside and goes limp. A blush brightens her face as heat rips through her core. Oh Fuck.

“Now then, lets lay eyes on this crude scribble,” Michael says, tugging up her shirt to expose her to his questing gaze. 

Mallory feels him run a fingertip over the small white bandage above the waistband of her jeans and trembles with embarrassment and desire.

She tenses when he pulls at the tape and holds her breath. 

A gust of warm air and blond hair tickle her skin. Michael’s bent himself nearly in half to inspect the image inked into one of the dimples in her lower back.

“Mallory,” he breathes reverently, “it’s beautiful. A masterpiece. A mouse for my Mouse.”

Something hot and wet smooths over her raw flesh. “Michael! Did you just lick me?!”

“Shhh. Just let me—” he pants, breaking off to stroke his sandpaper rough tongue over the tattoo again. 

Oh my god. It’s like someone’s set off a sparkler in Mallory’s pants. A direct connection between her lower back and her clit bursts to life and sizzles with the rasp of Michael’s tongue. 

She freezes at the sensation and then immediately begins to squirm against his hold. His arms, iron bands over her back and legs, don’t even flex. But her movements do earn her a rumbling growl and the press of sharp nails.

Michael continues his licking merrily, drawing a fang along the perimeter of the tattoo every fourth or fifth stroke.

Mallory’s reeling. She’s gone a bit hysterical. Tears of mortification burn in her eyes. “Oh my god_. Oh my god_.”

Is that even an erogenous zone? Because it sure is now!

Here she is, a respectable servant of the undead, undone by some decidedly unsexy tongue action. What is she? A cat!

She’s drenching her underwear for a 400 year old letch and bucking her hips into his thighs like her pelvis is a friction seeking missile.

There’ll be no living with him after this.

Mallory squeezes her eyes shut and resolves just to endure Michael’s attentions and flee at the earliest opportunity. If she gets an orgasm out of this, so be it. 

Something that can only be a whine escapes from her chest as she continues rolling her hips. Michael makes an agreeing noise and whispers soft and low, “c'est ça, ma petite souris. Cède à ton désir.”

“Shut up. Shut up,” she chants, on an endless loop, writhing under the slip and slide of his tongue until she falls apart across his lap.

Buggering fuck.

Michael laughs and nips at the soft skin to the left of her thoroughly cleansed scab.

He hums, “maybe I should call you dove, with the way you coo so sweetly for me?” He releases the hold his arms have on her and Mallory immediately rolls off of his knees, landing on the floor with a painful thump. 

She howls out a mournful wail into the threads of the Persian rug and hopes for death to take her.

“Oh hey, are you guys re-enacting the scene with Frodo and Shelob? Because you really should have landed on your back.” 

Michael and Mallory don’t spare a glance for the young man in the doorway. 

“GALLANT!” They yell in unison. “YOUR VIRGIN’S OUT OF THE BASEMENT AGAIN!”

Mallory's tattoo looks something like this:

Image taken from https://tattooimages.biz/image/61502-tiny-grey-mouse-with-huge-rosy-ears-tattoo-design/

French translation: That's it my little mouse, give in to your desire.


End file.
